Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (26 page)

Mr. Roberts slanted a knowing nod. “I can take a hint.” He waved a hand in the air. “I’ll be in the back room if you need anything.”

Grace turned to Sam, shifting nervously.

Clearly feeling as awkward as she did, he began removing sprinkler heads from the box and placing them on a shelf. “Heading in to work?”

Did she want to let on she’d come in just to see him? She took a few steps, lessening the gap between them. “In a minute. I just stopped in to pick up…” Her eyes darted around. She grabbed the first item her hand touched. “One of these.”

“No kidding.” His face broke into a snide grin. “It’s a darn good thing we keep a stock of blacksmithing guillotines on hand.”

She grimaced, feeling even more juvenile than before.

His grin turned to concern as he continued to empty the box. “Are you okay?”

She twisted her mouth. “I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Removing the last sprinkler from the box, he started to rearrange them on the shelf. “Because I’ve been worried.”

Taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, she stammered. “W…why would you be worried?”

He made no attempt to conceal his too-keen perception. “It’s just that the last time we talked, you threw me out of your house, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Now that he’d brought it up, it hit her that she couldn’t give him the real reason for her strong reaction. Why had she opened this can of worms? “You caught me on a bad day. I try to limit my raging outbursts to one a week.”

He leaned a hand on the shelf and looked at her. “Oh. Well, if you actually schedule them, remind me to check your appointment book.”

“No, spontaneity is so much more effective.” They shared a restrained smile. “I’m sorry Sam.”

“It’s alright. It was a weird situation, I’ll admit.” He paused, facing her. “Can I ask you another question though?”

Her stomach buckled. Was he about to ask about the appraisal? What could she possibly say? She nodded, fearful that her voice might betray her anguish.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the bell over the door jingled, and his face dropped. Grace pivoted around just as Devon entered the store. A startled look crossed his face before turning to amusement. He took a few slow steps toward them.

“Good afternoon, Grace.” He arched an eyebrow, his icy gaze shifting toward Sam. “Roberts.”

Sam’s demeanor remained unshaken. “What can I help you with?”

Devon assumed a professional air as he cast an uneasy glance at Grace. “Actually, I’m here to drop something off for your father.” He patted his briefcase. “Is he in?”

Sam’s face remained neutral while his eyes filled with disdain. “He’s in the back.” He reached out a hand. “But I can take it.”

Devon’s lips parted in protest, then he shot Grace a quick glance and appeared to reconsider. Slowly, he opened the case and stepped toward Sam, blocking her view of what he passed to him. “If he has any questions, he has my number.”

Sam moved back, roughly clutching a stack of papers. “Oh yeah,” he sneered. “We’ve got your number.”

Confusion burrowed in Grace’s temples. What business did Devon have with Mr. Roberts?

Devon watched as Sam retreated toward the back of the store. He turned to Grace. “Well. Fancy meeting you here.”

She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes scanning the street outside. What if Sophia happened to walk by and see them together? She kept her voice low, pretending to examine the tiny bins of nails in front of her. “We haven’t gotten to talk. Is the painting ready?”

Devon relaxed his stance. He pegged her with a Bob Dylan squint, the corners of his mouth lifting in mirth. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? That would be unusual. She kept her concern concealed. “But what does that mean?”

“It means it’s all taken care of.” His nonchalance could have rivaled Gandhi. “Just relax and think about what you can do with all that money.”

Her eyebrows shrugged. It wasn’t like the money was going toward anything fun. Still, knowing it was coming was a relief, and Devon’s efficiency reassured her.

“Everything is going according to plan.” He looked around casually as he spoke. “
Pirates
opens tomorrow, then I’ll be free.”

“That’s great.” A nervous flutter reminded her that they really hadn’t formed a plan for her departure. “So when—”

“In the meantime, I have things to do.” He raised his voice slightly, as if to remind her that this was too public a place for them to hold this conversation.

“Yes.” She twisted her fingers. “What were those papers about? Theatre business?”

His gaze shifted away, then immediately returned to her. “Yes. Theatre business.” He flashed a perfect smile. “Well. See you at rehearsal.”

A vague unease filled her as he walked out the door. She heaved a sigh. That annoying Sophia had really managed to postpone her developing relationship with Devon.
Oh well.
Things would be different in New York.

Alone now, she glanced at her watch. It was past time for her to start prepping for business. She’d have a line waiting for coffee if she didn’t get a move on.

She turned to go, then stopped. For some reason, she felt awkward leaving without saying something to Sam. She started toward the back of the store, secure that at least now she had an excuse not to pursue their previous conversation. She’d just let him know she was going.

Treading around a case of paint stir sticks, she approached a door, aiming a knock beneath the hand-lettered word ‘Office’. As her fist was about to make contact, a female voice stopped her cold.

“I’m sick of it, Sam!”

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. Who was in there with him?

“I’m not exactly crazy about it either.” Sam’s voice was hushed, forcing Grace to lean in. “What do you want me to do?”

The woman’s volume pitched. “You know what needs to happen. We can’t go on the way we’ve been.”

“I just don’t—”

An involuntary gasp escaped Grace’s throat. The conversation came to an abrupt halt, and Grace panicked. She whirled around, intent on diving for the front door.

The office door clicked behind her. “Grace!”

Sam’s voice stopped her. Could he tell she’d been listening? She turned slowly, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a woman standing in the office. It was the woman from upstairs.

He took a few steps toward Grace. “Is something wrong?”

“Wr…wrong?” She knew her voice concealed nothing, as she backed awkwardly up the aisle. “Not at all. I just have to get going.”

Sam seemed unconvinced. He followed as she hurried toward the door “Okay. Well, maybe sometime we could—”

“I just have so much work to do.” She looked at him as she spoke, reaching behind her for the door handle. The bell over the door jingled, and Grace flicked her head around, facing the stony gaze of Sophia. Her heart fell. Something in the woman’s accusatory stare told her she’d been right to worry about her catching her with Devon. Thank goodness she hadn’t arrived five minutes sooner.

Sophia’s eyes remained fixed on Grace as she spoke. “Hello Sam.”

Grace looked away, flinching at the attempted superiority in Sophia’s tone.

Sam sounded tired. “I’ll be right with you, Sophia.”

She shouldered around Grace, stepping between her and Sam. “I’m afraid I need your help. Now.”

Who exactly did she think she was, the Queen?

Grace caught the door before it shut, edging her way out. “I have to just…”

Sam reached around Sophia to grab the door, holding it open. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She cautioned a glance. What was he talking about? “I don’t…”

He raised an arm toward the wall. “Your guillotine. Would you like it gift wrapped?”

She shot him an incredulous glare. What kind of guy would joke around after she’d all but walked in on him fighting with his courtesan? She turned on her heel and stormed out.

She didn’t get him, and she never would.

Chapter 34

Craning her neck, Grace searched the throng of people exiting the rehearsal. Seeing no sign of Devon, she leaned back, disappointment heaving in her chest.

She forced an attitude check.
Pirates
would finally open tomorrow, and that meant one thing—soon, she and Devon would be going home. Sophia was not going to win.

The auditorium doors swung open one more time and an excited buzz escorted a group of cast members across the lobby. Grace smiled in encouragement. Despite her previous surrender to the inevitability of the casino, a fresh hope had blossomed over the past few weeks. Since
Wait Until Dark
had closed and
Pirates
rehearsals had moved into the auditorium, the show had actually gotten really good. Sam might not know quality theatre from a hole in the ground, but his dad would have to see things differently.

Glancing at her watch, she startled at the lateness of the hour. She’d been so caught up in preparing for opening, she’d ignored the onset of fatigue. Just as she turned to survey her cookie inventory, a noise from the lobby forced her back around. Sophia stepped up to the stand and glowered at her.

Grace’s nerves suddenly jolted to attention. Why was she allowing herself to be intimidated by that little minx when she’d been so careful about not letting her see her with Devon? Was there no pleasing her?

“Sophia.” She injected the word with a forced pleasantness. “How are you this evening?”

Sophia’s upper lip curled in a way that failed to flatter her. “Oh,
I’m
just fine.”

She reached into the sky blue Capezio bag she had flung over her shoulder and Grace leaned back, entertaining a Godfather-like image of Sophia riddling her stand with machinegun fire.

“I thought you might enjoy this.” Sophia brought out not a gun but a newspaper, which Grace quickly recognized as the arts and entertainment section from the
New York Daily News
. Sophia jabbed it at her. “Hot off the presses.”

“What’s this?” Wanting to appear cooperative, Grace took the paper.

“Just a little reminder.” Sophia readjusted the strap of her bag on her boney shoulder, aiming her body toward the door before bringing her spiteful glare around to join it. She marched out.

Perplexed, Grace slowly opened the paper, half expecting a dead fish or a horse’s head to fall out. Relieved at Sophia’s apparent lack of carcass creativity, she scanned each page for clues. Suddenly, there it was in front of her. A half-page spread on Kirk and his art collection complete with color photos.

She turned away, acid gurgling in her throat. So he’d been featured in the paper. That was nothing new, really. He craved the limelight, and he had friends in the press. Sophia just wanted Grace to think she was clever for spotting it. Let her have her ego boost.

Steadying herself, she snagged her sweatshirt off the counter and folded the paper inside it. No point in leaving it lying around here for everybody to see when she could so easily dispose of it at home. She tossed her purse strap over her shoulder exited the stand, eager to get some rest. All she needed to do was make it through tomorrow and she’d be home free.

Halfway across the lobby, her ear strained toward a faint hint of music. Was a band member staying late to rehearse?

Curious, she veered toward the house. She pulled open the door and peeked into the mostly-darkened auditorium.

Shrinking back into the shadows, she held in her breath. It was Sam, sitting on the edge of the stage strumming his guitar. Good sense told her to sneak back out before he saw her, but his soft playing seemed to cement her feet in place. She paused as the gentle wave of music coated her emotions.

Her stomach clenched. In spite of her desire to flee, her eyes stayed glued to him. She eased back a step, as he played a complicated combination then tried again, making an adjustment. He scribbled on a piece of paper and returned to playing. She watched in awe, grateful for the darkness that concealed her.

As he began to sing, a whisper of excitement stirred in her. Even though she’d seen him play at church, this was a side of him she hadn’t expected. He was actually a
singer
.

She leaned on the door’s edge and pictured him charming an audience with his talent and good looks. As she watched and listened, her predominant impressions of him tried to crowd their way in. Outside the bar and that time at Carson’s place. The woman he kept above his store. Her stomach churned at the thought. It was as if he was a different person here, creating music under the soft glow of the work lights.

Without realizing it, she started to sway with the rhythm of the music, causing the aged floorboard under her feet to let out a discordant squeal. Sam’s head jolted up and a prickle charged down her neck.

“Hey.” He squinted, his slight smile testing the waters. “You trying to get me back for sneaking up on you?”

She wavered. It was too late to back away, and she did want to hear more of his music. Almost against her will, her feet moved her fully into the room and the door eased shut behind her. What now? She took another small step. “That song. You’re
writing
it?”

His smile grew a bit more certain as he stood. “The spirit moved me to get this one down.” He braced a foot on the edge of the stage and began strumming again. “It’s a little thing I do when I’m not busy selling plungers.”

“It’s nice.” Taking a few more steps down the aisle, she twisted her fingers together nervously. Something—gravity, maybe?—necessitated her continued movement toward him. Since the auditorium was no bigger than the ladies’ lounge at Saks, she soon found herself standing just a few feet away from him. He looked down, strumming lightly and shifting in a way that indicated he felt as ill-at-ease as she did.

She glanced at the lyrics he’d written on the paper. It didn’t take a genius to see that this was a love song. Her pulse spiked. Did he write it for both of his women? She sterned her look. “So, whoever you’re writing it for must be very
flattered
.”

He slid her a sideways glance. “I hope He is.”

Her head snapped involuntarily. “You hope
he
is?” He had a complicated love life, but this unforeseen twist totally sideswiped her.